


Sunburn

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-29
Updated: 2005-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7621426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.” And because it’s Billy saying it, the word comes out in some kind of cipher. Trust Billy to make a two-letter word sound like it needs sixteen characters in the International Phonetic Alphabet to get it across accurately.<br/>“Oh, how bad can it be?” He pulls his t-shirt off, and when I see how red his neck and shoulders are compared to the pallor where the fabric protected him, I suck air through my teeth in sympathy. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunburn

“Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.” And because it’s Billy saying it, the word comes out in some kind of cipher. Trust Billy to make a two-letter word sound like it needs sixteen characters in the International Phonetic Alphabet to get it across accurately.

“Oh, how bad can it be?” He pulls his t-shirt off, and when I see how red his neck and shoulders are compared to the pallor where the fabric protected him, I suck air through my teeth in sympathy. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Billy carefully lowers his arms. “Feels like I’ve been boiled,” he says. His face is doing that eyes-closed, brow-furrowed, scrunched-up thing that always makes me wonder what he looks like when he—oi. _Never mind. Shut up_. This command is addressed to my libido, which has perked up, presented with shirtless Billy and the facial scrunching.

“Looks like you’ve been boiled.” I take the t-shirt. “Didn’t look that bad till I could see how fish-belly white you are everywhere else.”

“Piss off. I’m Scottish. M’s’posed to be fish-belly white.” He pokes his upper arm, watches the white mark fade immediately, overwhelmed by red. “Not s’posed to look like a lobster.” He shivers, and I wonder just how bad the sunburn is. 

“You need some lotion. Aloe or summat.” I head for the loo—surely he’s got something in there. “Are you cold? I can turn down the air-conditioning.”

His voice is faint—where’d he go? “I’m okay. Just gonna lay here and wait till my nerve endings sizzle away, so it won’t hurt so much.”

Aha. Aloe vera lotion, and here’s something else—topical anesthetic for minor burns and sunburn, it says. I grab both bottles and head into his bedroom. There’s Billy lying on his stomach on the bed, all stretched out like he’s just waiting to be straddled and— _shut UP_. “I got some stuff,” I say, and he starts to twist his head to look, but that must hurt, because he gives up and puts his face back into the mattress.

“Put it on me, will you, Dommeh?”

Oh great.

“Erm. Alright. Do you want the stuff to make it stop hurting first, or the aloe vera first—that should help it to stop hurting, too.” I shift from foot to foot, standing beside the bed. Trying not to look at Billy’s thighs, which aren’t burned at all—it’s just his neck and shoulders. His thighs are muscular and lightly furry and I can just imagine what it would be like to run my hands up them, push my fingers under the hem of his loose shorts and touch the crease where his arse meets his thighs, push my thumbs inward and down and—Christ.

“Save the organic shite. I want drugs, and I want ’em now,” Billy mumbles into the pillow. “Hurry up.”

“Okay.” I climb up by him and sit on my heels, uncapping the bottle. “So. Um. Okay.” I poise the squirty part by his neck. “Ready?”

“S’not gonna hurt is it?”

“I don’t think so. Cold, maybe.”

“Hurry up then.” Christ. Fucking whiny. 

“Keep your knickers on.” Or not. I press down and a fine spray comes out.

Billy tenses and then relaxes. “It is cold… feels good though.” He shifts and I squirt the stuff all over his neck and shoulders, then run my hand over the warm red skin, brushing the moisture in as gently as I can, quick light strokes over the droplets and then on to the next area.

“Mmmmm.”

I stop for a second. “Not the kind of noise you want to be making with me in the room, Bills.”

A snort. “Get you hot and bothered, does it?”

 _Yes._ “No.” Back to work, and Billy’s quiet, his back rising and falling under my hands. “Okay. Lotion next.”

“Nnnngh.”

Fuck. Quit it, Billy. “Okay.” Open the lotion, try to pretend like my hand isn’t shaking. Probably best to just do this quickly, yeah. Then I can leave the room and have a wank. I’ve been hard for a little while, now; good thing there’s no one looking at my crotch, because no matter how loud the print is on these shorts—and it’s really really loud, god bless shocking-pink hibiscus flowers and neon-green parrots—nothing is going to hide this thing.

Billy’s skin is so warm—must be the sunburn. He’s pink from the nape of his neck to a point somewhere around the fifth vertebra, a swooping curve of rosiness that fades abruptly into pale skin. Then his shoulders are red, too, with two thin lines of white where the vest protected him. I slide the lotion around his back, and then onto his shoulders—muscular, smooth—and then down his bicep. Large biceps for such a small man. Did I say that out loud? Don’t think so. Um. Okay. Forearms, nicely furry like his thighs (shame the thighs aren’t sunburned though really that’s an awful thought) and the lotion sticks in the fine hairs and then they slick down with it as his reddened skin soaks up the moisture.

“Making me fall asleep,” he slurs.

“Okay.” I continue working, then I need to do his other arm. I can’t straddle him, because then my erection would be sort of, um, shoved into his arse-crack, and that would be bad. Somehow. Oh yeah, bad because Billy doesn’t know I want to shag him into next week, be shagged by him into next month.

So I squirt some more of the lotion into my palm (still shaking, at least I’m consistent) and sort of lean across him—right shoulder, then I have to lean further because this arm is up, lying over his head and on the pillow instead of down along his side like the other one was, and I am not sure why I thought this was a good position, because the further down (up) his arm I go, the further I have to lean, and so now my hard-on is poking him in the hip and my mouth is an inch from the short, bristly hairs at the nape of his neck.

Double jeopardy. It’s some American legal term, I don’t know what it means, but maybe this is it.

I tip my head back up—probably wise to remove my mouth from the vicinity of his neck, since I have an almost overwhelming urge to lick—and fix my eyes on his arm, and on what I’m supposed to be doing there. Massaging the lotion in small circles, okay, good, but it moves me, just a bit, and there’s just the tiniest bit of friction—repetitive rub against the head of my dick and Jesus Christ I’m hard. I should move back but I can’t bring myself to. Billy hopefully hasn’t noticed that I am stabbing him in the hip with an erection you could hang a coat on. He hasn’t said anything, anyway, which is a good—

“Ehm, Dom?” He sounds awake again.

“Yeah? Almost done.”

“You okay there?”

I suck in a breath and sit up. “Yeah. Finished. You want anything else?”

“Opium?”

“You’re fresh out, sorry. Think I saw some aether in the cupboard, though.” He snorts and I sit back some more, sighing as I lose that lovely pressure. “I don’t know what else to do. Except maybe sign you up for skin cancer treatments in about ten years.”

“Piss off. You’re the numptie with a tan all the time.”

“Bill, I only look tanned when I stand next to you.” I don’t want to leave. I mean, I _do_ —I really want to take care of this thing in my lap—but it’s been a while since Billy and I got to just hang out together, and I’ve missed that. So I stay where I am. “Maybe ice would feel good. Or a cool shower.”

Billy turns his head on the pillow and I watch his profile. “The thought of water beating on my shoulders is about as appealing as having my teeth bashed in by Viggo’s forehead.”

I nod and shrug. “Okay. Well, there’s no bathtub in this house. So… ice? Or are you okay?”

“M’okay.” The eye I can see winks shut. “Dom…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a hard-on?”

“Are you looking?” It pops out before I can stop it, instinctive flirtation, a species imperative, something I can’t help. I clap my hands over my face.

“…Maybe.”

I peer through my fingers at Billy. His eye is open again, fixed sardonically on my face—or rather, my hands. He looks like he’s trying not to smile.

“Bugger off, Boyd,” I force myself to say, dropping my hands. My face feels like Billy’s shoulders must—stiff and hot and uncomfortable. “Pull the other one.”

He starts to roll over and then winces and stops on his side, looking right at me now. Still smiling, though he looks nervous. “Rather pull you.” I can’t tell if he’s blushing, his face is too pink already.

“That’s a wretched pick-up line,” I point out. My brain may explode soon. I can’t feel my fingertips, but I flop onto my side on the bed, facing Billy. 

“Sorry. It is.” Billy’s smile is sweeter this time. “I think I know you too well to use a regular line. What’s your sign? Know it. What brings you here? Know that, too. What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?” He grins. “Know you’re not nice. So I had to make do.”

I lift my hand to swat him but remember the sunburn in time and poke his chest instead. “This is how you sweet-talk me? Your technique needs some work.”

“See if this works, then,” he says, and shifts forward—I see him wince again as his right shoulder scrapes along the linen. He gets so close it’s an effort to focus, all I can see are his eyes, enormous and green and beautiful. His voice drops to a husky murmur. “Been wanting to kiss you for a while, Dom. Do you mind?”

“That’s much better,” I whisper weakly. 

“Oh good.” His lips curve and I know he’s about to say something smart-arsed— _So can I?_ or _Would now be all right?_ —but I don’t wait to hear it. I move: close my eyes, press my mouth to his.

His lips are soft and warm, slightly chapped from sun and wind. When I dart my tongue out, his lips taste of salt. His tongue, though, tastes simply of himself—I know that because a few seconds after I run my tongue along his upper lip he opens his mouth to me.

I roll over, kissing him, then fall back as he presses me up and away, sitting up over me. 

“Sorry,” I say, face aflame again. I have no idea why, as he’s the one who said he wanted to kiss me. But I’m nervous, dammit—this is Billy, who I’ve been wanting for months already, and my best mate, and. “Sorry.”

He makes a face. “It’s just my back,” he says. “I think I need to be on top.”

My jaw drops and I start to grin. “You’ve certainly got balls.”

His face scrunches up and he hangs his head. “I meant to kiss you, eejit,” he mutters, and he must be blushing now, though I still can’t see it.

“Suuuuuure you did.” I wriggle and scoot myself back until I’m half-sitting against the headboard. “So c’mon and kiss me, Mr. Toppy McBossy.”

“MacBossy,” Billy says, starting to snicker. “Scottish.” He hitches forward, hesitates; swings one leg over my lap and straddles me. 

“Oho,” I manage, just barely keeping my eyes from rolling back in my head. “So I’m not the only one who’s hard.”

Billy rocks lightly atop me, grinning. “Never said you were.” There are laugh lines around his eyes, and those two deep curves bracket his smiling mouth; I want to taste them, wonder if he’d find it weird if I stuck my tongue out and ran it up his cheek. “What’re you thinking?”

“Wondering if you think I’m weird,” I blurt. I let my head fall back against the headboard with a hollow wooden thunk. “…Never mind. Think I know the answer.”

“I think you’re weird, yeah,” Billy snickers. He leans forward and I feel his breath against my neck and then his lips, warm and moist, moving as he speaks. “I’m alright with weird. I like weird.” He kisses my neck, then, and I have to clench my hands in the bedsheets to keep myself still, I want to fly apart at the seams at how good it feels: his lips, the moist touch of his tongue, his hands small and firm on my shoulders. I keep my mouth closed, afraid of the sound I might make if my lips part.

“Are you—” He stops, ducks his forehead against my chest. “Are you okay?” His voice sounds almost uncertain, which is ridiculous, because at this point he could order me to drop trou and jog down to the corner store for some beer and I’d do it—he’s got me, fair and square. 

“Whydoyouask?” I open my eyes and look at the ceiling.

“You’re… very quiet.” He lifts his head and I lift mine and we look at each other. Yes, he’s uncertain, and suddenly I am, too. “And you’re shaking.” He smiles and looks down, and I stare at the way his eyelashes brush his cheekbones for a witless moment, until I realise he might want—you know—a _reply_.

“You feel really good,” I offer, and I force my hands to release the sheets. I put them on his waist, rub my thumbs in small circles. “And I think I’m shaking because I’ve kind of…” Fuck, I’m blushing _again_ , when did I turn into a thirteen-year-old girl? “…I’ve kind of wanted to kiss you for a long time. And now I’m in your bed and you’re sitting on my lap and not wearing anything but shorts and I got to kiss you and _you_ kissed _me_ , too, and holy fuck. I’m babbling. I’m nervous.” I inhaled. “I’m just nervous, is all.”

“Me, too,” he confides. “I always thought I’d have to be good and well trollied to try anything.”

“We’ve been trollied around one another plenty of times,” I point out. “Why didn’t you try something, then?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs and glances at me. Grins. “Sometimes I wondered if I did, or you did, and I just didn’t remember.”

“S’been a close thing, a couple of times.” I smile back and shift my hands, gripping his waist lightly, now, rubbing my thumbs over his hipbones, dipping beneath the waistband of his shorts. “The nights when you’ve stayed over at my place, or me here…” I rolled my eyes and he laughed. “It’s really not that I have a tiny bladder, I swear. I just had to go in there and wank, or splash cold water on my face, or something.”

“You could’ve left me without the specifics, Dominic,” says Bill. But he doesn’t care—maybe he’s pleased, I’m not sure. He leans forward and tugs my earlobe gently with his teeth, chest pressed to mine. “But since you didn’t… you’ve wanked while thinking about me?”

“A few—Christ—a few times.” I inhale sharply at the feel of his fingers worming their way between us. “More than a few times.” Down that hand goes, fingers scrabbling at my t-shirt until he separates it from my shorts and his fingers straighten, dive. “Oh—oh Christ.”

“I want—” His breath hitches, sighs warm into my ear as his palm slides right onto my prick, cupping awkwardly around it. “I want to see you come.”

That’s it, coherent thought gone. I groan, and squeeze his hips. “…Okay.” Wait, though, wait a minute. “You, too,” I say when he sits back and up. My words interrupt his wriggle off my legs and he pauses mid-shift to look at me.

“What?”

“I want to see you, too,” I say. “So bad.” I reach forward and rub my fingers briefly over the bulge in his shorts. “You know you want to.”

“I do.” He smiles, shy and wicked and is this really happening? I wonder when I’m going to wake up, or worse, when the momentum of this moment will shatter, when the excitement and lust I see in Billy’s face will twist into embarrassment, discomfort. Maybe never. Please, let it be never. I veer away from that thought.

We get undressed, quick and fumbling on my part, quick and neat on his. And there he is, naked, sitting tailor-fashion on the bed. I’ve seen him naked before, but never hard and I can’t stop staring at his cock—it’s thicker than mine, just a bit, strong and flushed red, poking up between his folded legs as though curious. 

Billy has his eye on me, too, and I laugh and resist the urge to turn shy, bounding up onto the bed again instead, walking on my knees toward him. My cock is bobbing out in front of me, eager and unashamed, and perhaps I’ll take that as my cue. “Gorgeous,” I say, meaning him, meaning me, meaning us.

He knows, of course he does, and his smile is equal parts glee and nerves and delight. His front isn’t as badly burned as his back—just rosy and warm looking, interrupted by his naturally pale skin where the shirt protected him. “C’mere, you.”

We kiss again. Me on hands and knees, Billy leaning forward. His hands cup my face gently but his mouth is powerful and I wonder dizzily how long I’ll have to wait before he fucks me, how long before he’ll let me—will he let me?—fuck him.

“What are you thinking now?” he asks as we break, gasping for breath.

“I wish you would fuck me.” OH MY GOD. I clap my hands over my face for the second time. 

His eyes widen and—god _damn_ him—laughter bubbles up and out of him. I topple backward and roll over, pressing my face into the pillows and hoping asphyxiation is quick. I can hear his giggles and snorts and I make some sound—some high-pitched whimper of embarrassment, I guess.

“Dom, Dom, it’s all right.” His hand on my bare shoulder, reassuring and kind. “We’re blokes, right? We’re supposed to think that kind of thing.”

I turn my head just a little. “Not s’posed to say it out loud.” Back to my slow death by suffocation, and Billy’s rubbing circles on my back, now, small comforting circles.

“Well, no, probably not. But you have this whole Dominic thing about you,” he says kindly, “in addition to the bloke thing—makes you twice as likely to say shite without thinking about it first.” His hand slides down my back and my whole body tenses as his palm comes to rest on my bottom. “But I did ask.” He runs one finger down between my ass cheeks and then does it again, and again; so light it almost tickles, barely pulling at the small hairs nestled there. I really can’t breathe now, and I don’t think it’s because of the pillow anymore.

“What’re you doing,” I manage to ask, turning my head again. I can see him out of one eye, looking at my back (bum), face all pensive and thoughtful.

“I have condoms.” His eyes travel up my body to meet mine. “And lube.”

This is… too much to handle, and I stuff my face back into the pillow. 

The bed dips and moves and then he straddles me, sitting firmly on my upper thighs, warm and heavy and comfortable. He leans down (ah fuck me that’s his cock pressing gently into the cleft of my arse) and breathes warm against my neck. 

“I do want to fuck you,” he whispers. His lips move against the short hair on my nape and I shiver, squeezing my eyes shut so tightly darkness is replaced by red and green starbursts. “I will, right now. If you really want me to.”

“Yeah.” I lift my head, feel his mouth against my neck. “Yeah, I want you to.”

“Stay there,” he says, moving off me, and while he’s digging through the night table beside the bed, I shift about, shoving things in the downstairs department into good positions and getting comfortable with my head pillowed on my arms. In a minute Bill’s back, settling between my thighs this time. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Could be better, but I’m alright.”

I hear the smile in his voice, hear the little snick of the bottle opening and the wet sound of a palmful of lube being squeezed out. “We’ll get you there.” One dry, warm hand on my bottom. “S’probably cold.”

I inhale sharply as his hand (the one with the lube) comes down square and firm where I want it the most. “It is,” I manage. “Shoulda put that shite on your shoulders. You been holding out on me.”

“Not planning to hold out on you anymore,” he says, laughter still lurking in his high-pitched, sweet voice. I gasp and shiver as his fingers rub over all that sensitive skin between my legs—pressing wet and careful around my hole, moving lower to rub my perineum and then massaging my balls, tugging at the skin there until I lift my hips, making an involuntary noise into the pillow. He laughs at that and his fingers slip back up to play around my entrance. 

“C’mon,” I say, and it’s more of a whine than an order but Bill doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t say anything, just moves (I feel the bed shift as he does) and his tongue runs over my tailbone as his finger slides inward. “Nnnnnnngh…” That’s about it for me and vocal ability. Billy is quiet, sucking just at the base of my spine, licking gently as his finger slides in and out, slow, steady, wonderful. 

The first odd feeling of pressure relents quickly and I want more; I cant my hips up toward him and on the next inward slide he gives me two fingers. “Mmm,” I hum to myself, and: “So hot inside you, Dom,” Billy whispers. “Can’t wait to feel it with more than my fingers.”

I whimper—yeah, I’ll admit it—and that’s when I feel the sweat prickle up along my scalp. I pull my legs up and open and he does laugh, then, chuckle ghosting across my back as he scissors his fingers and then—

“Ah god—” I blurt, quivering from head to toe. “Anh— ah god—”

“Like a guitar string,” Billy sighs. “Your whole body…” He strokes my prostate again and again until I’m clutching at the sheets to keep from thrashing. I’ve got my legs as wide as I can get them in this position, and I’m fucking chewing on the pillowcase to keep myself reasonably quiet. 

“Please please please,” I hear myself sob, and Billy moves, slips his fingers gently out and sits back. I hear him open the condom packet, hear the liquid sound of more lube being squeezed out. 

“Be still, be still for me Dom,” he whispers. The nudge of his cock and Jesus I want him so bad I’m breathing like I’ve run a race. I slow it down, breathe in deep through my nose, out through my mouth, relaxing, relaxing as he slides slowly in. I can see one of his hands, fingers splayed, pressing deep into the covers and his forearm corded, supporting his weight as he pushes forward.

He feels… god. So good, and I keep my breathing even despite the desire to pant, shout, _move_. I can’t stop the moan that his weight presses out of me, though, or the shivers tearing through my body.

“Alright there, Dom?” His voice is strained, and I recognise it—the hoarse timbre of a man who wants to let go, to move. I want that, too, so much.

“Beyond alright,” I manage. “Not gonna… nnnngh. Not gonna last too long.” No more than the truth; my cock is being ground into the mattress and if he moves at all (which I hope he will and soon), there might be—oh fuck please— _friction_ , and I’m so overheated already from being right here with him doing this to me, that I’m beginning to wonder who got sunburned in the first place. “Billy _please_ —”

“God…” Muttered, then he leans and begins moving slowly, the long slow slide of withdrawal followed each time by a hard inward push. And there it is, oh there it is: friction and weight, Billy’s weight on me and in me, the harsh sound of his breath and the damp sounds of skin on skin as he thrusts again and again, settling quickly to a fast, hard rhythm, gaining momentum by the minute. “Dom, oh fuck, Dommeh,” he moans, his voice is high and sweet. “Up, up, up,” he demands suddenly, pulling at me as he maneuvers me until my hips rise. I’d be on my hands and knees but I can’t seem to push my torso up so I’m wanton, desperate, arse in the air and Billy with his hands tight on my hips, yanking me back onto his cock with every stroke so our skin slaps together. “Fuck—fuck—fuck—” he chants, quiet and frenzied.

There’s a shift as he leans and OH holy sweet mary mother of god just as his small, strong hand wraps around my (throbbing aching needy) cock, he manages to start brushing my prostate with his thrusts. 

I think I shout, I don’t know—all I know is that about four seconds after Bill starts working my cock I come, loudly and completely and intensely, shuddering and making noises I’d probably be ashamed of if someone taped them and played them back to me.

The next moments are a hazy, sweaty blur—basically my bones turn to jelly and I’m just a marionette, Billy holding me up as he fucks me right through the bed and the carpet and the floor and the earth until he comes, gasping and cursing like it hurts but somehow I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.

Without my puppetmaster gripping my hipbones (I wonder idly if there’ll be marks tomorrow—fuck I hope so) I slide to the mattress and flatten out, Billy still over and in me. I can feel his heartbeat thundering against my back, feel my hair move with each puff of his breath. “Alright there, Dom?” he asks again.

“So so far beyond all right.” After a while he is quiet and heavy atop me; finally he rolls off and I turn my head to see him pull off the condom and tie it, then drop it into the bin under the night table. “You alright?”

He flops beside me and winces as his burnt shoulder lands on the sheets. “I’m fine.”

I turn onto my side, tugging at the duvet until it covers the wet spot under me, grinning at his moue of irritation. “Such a pretty mouth,” I mumble, leaning to kiss him. And it is, pretty and mobile and sexy, relaxing under my lips, parting, letting me in.

“Hmmm.” When I lie back he’s smiling. “We’re a couple of failures, though, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?” I squint at him, trying to look mean.

“I said I wanted to see you come, and I didn’t. And you said you wanted to see me come, and you didn’t.” He giggles, green eyes shining in his red face, hair matted down and mussed.

I smile at that. “Well. I got to feel you come.”

“And I felt you come, too.” One eyebrow goes up. “Felt fucking fantastic.”

“And of course…” I pause and eye him. “We can always give it another try.” Trail my fingers down his chest to his belly, lower and lower still until I’ve got him cupped in my hand, soft and damp and warm.

He laughs. “You have a fine way of keeping your priorities right, Dominic.” He scoots a bit closer. “You’ll get your second chance.”

“Mmmm.” His mouth again, soft and clever and aggressive, and I slide my hands up his arms until he yelps suddenly and pulls away. “Oh, shit.” Stupid hands, stupid sunburn, stupid sexy irresistible Billy.

“S’okay.” His face is crinkled up, a little, but he sits up and smiles at me anyway. “Maybe we should eat. And then maybe you should put some more lotion on me.”

“In certain strategic areas?”

Billy snickers. “None of that numbing shite on my gear, please; other than that I’d be most grateful to have you massage any area of my anatomy that you please.”

“With my mouth.” And twenty minutes ago I’d have clapped my hands over that selfsame mouth, but twenty minutes ago I wasn’t been floating in post-shag bliss and lying naked in bed with Billy Boyd. So instead I just grin at him, and he grins back, and I thank god for sunburn and lotion and curiosity and a complete lack of self-restraint on my part.


End file.
